


So Long & Goodnight

by Valania



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: ALL THE ANGST, F/M, So much angst, i admit i cried while writing this, i feel like maybe riza is a bit ooc but idc, i hope it's ok, this was written for day 1 of royai week 2015!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-04-03 13:05:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4102021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valania/pseuds/Valania
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Riza returns from Ishval plagued by night terrors that are only quenched when a certain someone who didn't make it back visits her dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Long & Goodnight

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoy this! This is my interpretation for day 1 of Royai Week this year - the prompt being "Dreams" 
> 
> Constructive criticism, kudos and comments are very much appreciated! Thanks in advance!

A soft sigh disturbs the peace that has settled since the lights were turned off in the room. One Riza Hawkeye finds sleep difficult to come by, wondering if she’ll return, in mind, to the bloodied desert like so many nights before. Her eyes prickle with exhaustion, but even though she’d never admit it to herself, she’s scared to let go of her consciousness.

Will she see _him_ tonight?

After another sigh, Riza turns on her right side, facing the dark window in her room. She’s been back all but two weeks, and the small room in the barracks she’s once thought of as her new home still feel odd and unwelcoming, all strange shapes and unfriendly shadows. The too-clean smell wafting out of every corner of the room is overwhelming as well, she muses. She isn’t used to it after so many months of the nauseating smell of human decay invading her nose. Her unfocused eyes survey her possessions with disinterest. Loneliness sinks into her bones, and she shivers involuntarily.

Her eyes burn, and she knows she should at least attempt to rest, but she’s torn: while there is a part of her that is terrified of falling asleep for the terrors she often sees behind closed lids, this is her only escape from the torment that hangs heavy over her head. It’s also the only way she can be close to him.

Because although Riza has returned home, but he never did.

On the nights when the guilt plagues her like a poison, she sees him, standing feet away from him. If his hands (one gloved, and the other one bare) aren’t tucked into his trousers, they’re crossed over his chest and his expression is one of chastisement, his eyes telling her to stop blaming herself.

Waking up is bittersweet, his face still dancing in her mind’s eye and his voice drifting away into the dark. He only speaks to her as consciousness comes near, and it’s _infuriating._ She wants to talk to him - ask him why and how she’s supposed to stop feeling like someone has dropped a concrete pillar on her chest.

Tonight is such a night, though lately, they all seem to blend together. There is no today or tomorrow - day and night are part of the same dream, the same nightmare. She’s ready to wake up.

A lump grows in her throat as she sits up, reclining against the headboard of her bed. Her eyes - dull as they are - fill with frustrated, agonised, miserable, exhausted tears. She exhales softly before she looks at the ceiling, her hand tight around a torn, white piece of fabric with a familiar array embroidered on it.

Her voice is strained when she speaks. “Sometimes I hate you,”

As always, the room remains perfectly dark and quiet and still. She’s sick of it. She is tired of it all. She is tired of missing him.

“Goddamnit, Mustang,” she doubles over, her grip on the glove tightening as she takes a shuddering breath, attempting to calm her nerves. “Y-you idiot.” she grits out, now directing her defeated gaze at the sole tattered glove. She’d snatched it before anyone had noticed. It’s a lousy thing of his to keep, she knows, but it’s all she has now, aside from the memories. “You couldn’t stick to your own plan, could you?”

She isn’t referring to their plan out in combat - she means his plan for his (rather, _their,_ as he himself had put it once) future. She brings the glove close, feeling anger and sorrow bloom in her chest. “You were going to change Amestris. You were going to use Flame Alchemy to make a difference and help others,” she whispers.. She doesn’t care that she was speaking to an empty room. She knows he’s listening. He has to be. “You… you promised me!”

* * *

 

_“I’m sorry.”_

_Riza’s eyes widen and she whirls to look at him. His face is ashen and his eyes are hollow. He’s standing closer - much closer - than usual. His uniform remains pristine, even though his right glove is still missing._

_Her throat tightens and she can’t move. He takes a tentative step in her direction, slowly, as if approaching a wild animal. As if she’ll attack or run away._

_“God, Riza,” her name rolls off his tongue with a familiarity that makes her ache inside. “I’m so sorry…” he trails off._

_She finally finds her voice, as broken as her heart. “Sorry won’t change a damn thing,” she says, and takes a shuddering breath. “Is that all you have to say to me?”_

_“There’s a lot I wanna say, of course there is,” he looks so desperate and Riza feels a tear roll down her cheek. His nighttime visits are cruel. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. We were supposed to fix Amestris together…”_

_Her hands tremble as he takes another step. Her eyes never leave his._

_“Why?” she whispers and her resolve shatters. “Why do I feel so impotent and utterly useless? I couldn’t help you, and now I can’t help myself either.”_

_His bare hand reaches forward, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You aren’t useless. It wasn’t your duty to look after me out there. It never was.” he says, now running his hand along her jaw with maddening delicacy._

_She chokes back a sob, screwing her eyes shut before speaking. “It doesn’t matter. You’re dead, Roy. You’re dead, and I’m alive, and I don’t want this!” she takes a deep breath, opening her eyes again. The look he’s giving her is a mix of regret and pity._

_She can’t take it anymore. She closes the distance between them, her arms wrapping around his middle, her face buries itself in the folds of his heavy wool uniform. “I’m so tired,” she mumbles. “Roy, I’m so tired. I’m tired of everything. Why am I so tired?”_

_His arms - which had instantly enclosed her body closer to his - tighten. “Because you’ve always had to be strong, even now.” He presses his cheek to the top of her head. “Please, don’t cry. I can’t handle it when you cry,” he says, and she can tell he’s trying to keep his voice light._

_“I don’t hate you,” she says, pulling back, her eyes searching his own watery ones. “I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. I’m so sorry,” she hiccups, feeling ashamed. “I’m so sorry. I don’t hate you.” She wants this dream to last as long as possible. Dreams with him in them never last long enough. They never will. “I’m so sorry, oh God, Roy,” she looks down, attempting to find the words._

_“I know. Hey, look at me,” when her eyes stay down, he frowns sadly. “Riza, please look at me,” she brings her eyes back up. “I’ll be there, always. It’s okay. I’ll beside you. In your dreams, in your heart.” he shoots her his signature smile, despite the fact that he’s fighting tears of his own. “Talk to my glove if you want. I’ll be listening. I promise.”_

_He leans forward, pressing his lips to her forehead for a long moment. When he pulls away, she notices he has started to fade around the edges. Panic bubbles up her throat. “No,” she grasps at the fabric of his uniform desperately. “No, don’t, please don’t leave me, not yet, Roy, please.” she starts hyperventilating. He looks miserable. “Everyone leaves me. Please, not you, too,” her voice is barely above a whisper. He’s see-through now. “I can’t be alone anymore. Please!”_

* * *

Her heartbeat is pounding painfully against her chest when she bolts up in bed, eyes wild and a gasp in her mouth. The glove is on the floor, beside her bed. Her hands shake, and her breath is shallow. Warmth leaves her body almost instantly, and she wraps her blanket around her shoulders.

Same as always, she thinks to herself as she brings her knees close to her chest and rests her forehead on them. After a long moment of attempting to stabilise her breathing and beating heart, she decides she won’t cry again tonight if she can help it. She lifts her head and looks sadly at the glove then, still on the wooden floor beside her bed.

“See you soon, Roy,” she murmurs, before reaching for it. Before she lays back down, she places the glove under her pillow. “Sweet dreams.”

**Author's Note:**

> Quite a weak ending, but I hope it made you sad anyway. 
> 
> Full disclosure: I cried a little bit while writing this. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
